Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Instead of just posting new stuff I'm going to do something a little different. Here are the three poems thus far comprise my female singer-songwriter blues series. I can give commentary on these for once.This first one was written in 2009. I was listening to the album mentioned a good deal during that period around the time and for whatever reason to decided to throw it in. It was in my first chapbook, and I'm especially proud of the last stanza.

"aimee mann's blues"i tried to say i was sorryit just didn't worki threw down my wallet and your car keysand i walked out the door exhaling smokeaimee mann was on the stereowhy the fuck were you listening to aimee mann?if i ever manage to get far enough awayi will never listen to "the forgotten arm" againno, you didn't throw me out, i lefti'm not sorry, though i said i wasi would do it again, please pleasewon't you give me a chance to do it again?when the fireworks have been forgotteni will sip water and rejoicei will light a candle to the memoryof every woman i've lost or given awayThe next was written in hospital early this year. I had a line about tucson stuck in my head for a few hours before I put on some Fuller. It sort of fell together after that. I swear there was a blues between the first an d second, but I haven't found one.

"lindsay fuller's blues"the last i recall of tucson was a gas-up on the edge of townwe spun them wheels like we were breaking teethchucking bottles from the window andfuller was on the radio sowe sang as if this time we knew where we were goinglet every sad song i ever hearbe an epitaph for every girl i'll never see againlet their memories be likethe bottles and trails of cigarette smoke i leave in my wakei'm only as vacant as i need to be they're only as close as i need them to bewe said "fuck california", and headed eastplayed the "cheap dates" record all the way through new mexicoyou don't notice the sights when you're flying blindbut you hear the music, and it matterssometimes it's all that doesi've chased my whiskey with so many ruthless womensome of them i miss the way i would the rainthe pain in your stomach never quite settlesafter you've learned a lover is deadbut there's always another folk songand usually it's easier to just force your eyes aheadthis time i think i'm headed souththere ain't no place like the goddamn southi may wind up in a drunk tank in the bible beltor as bones on some deserted stretch of highwaybut before i'm gonei'll litter america with my poems, like johnny appleseed

This next one, I was literally thinking about ripping off Tori Amos, the song below. I really do need to try and rip it off.

This was written oddly, and it feels rushed to me because of it. Somebody cam e over while I was writing the second stanza and I had to finish the poem with him watching before I lost it. I remember planning to write a fifth and final verse when I wrote the second draft, but it didn't need it. The title came about with the second draft, and I only gave it that title to fit in with thi this series.

“tori amos’ blues”

i wasn’t there that day

i was too busy thinking about

ripping off tori amos, i think

your thoughts were in my hands, i slipped

i threw myself towards the wilderness, i inhaled

all these faceless fucks

that barter through our lives

their tempers are relentless, but I found in them a prayer

an answer to our self reliance

something to dance w/

other than destruction

a rainy fever threw you

the day i came back

i stood in the door with no umbrella

i was weighing options, but you never gave me a chance

you threw accusations my way

i stumbled, shook, then stood.

i would rather not return

to balance barren days with oblivion

but i’ll take my chances

trouble comes when it must

i only hope to be

five minutes stable

I hope these were enjoyable, and please comment. There will be more of these, but they'll come in their own time.